altusimperius | IC inbox

From:

Society galas in Minrathous are almost always thrown for the express purpose of political maneuvering and shady double-dealing. Atticus has managed to remain on the periphery of Tevinter's Great Game, which has required a certain amount of political maneuvering of his own; it takes work to remain so purposefully neutral and respectable amongst all quarters--though he does find that having all of one's colleagues suspect him of his father's murder helps.

Tonight he is accompanied by his wife, Ophelia, and their teenage son, Octavius. Ophelia is as poised and elegant as the wife of a magister ought to be; Octavius can't quite wrest his eyes away from the canapés, but that's to be expected of a boy his age.

Atticus pays him little attention. He's here to bear witness to some exquisite bit of political subterfuge executed by the Artemaeus family, and to provide a bit of subtle back-up if required.

From:

arlathvhen

[ Beleth does not particularly want to meet with Benedict in his gross cell, so he gets to have a field trip to the garden, accompanied by some Templar or another. I don't know which one. Maybe it's Ser Gareth, who's been a bit grumpy since he found out there is now two mages with his name running around here.

In any case, there are two chairs and a little side table with a tea set awaiting him, with Beleth sitting in one of the chairs. She gestures to the chair, a polite smile on her face. ]

Benedict Artemaeus, correct? Would you like some tea?

From:

mousquetaire

I joined the Northern Powers project. Just so that you're aware.

From:

misdirection_hex

[A brief message in a spidery but well-practiced hand has found its way into the hands of everyone in the newly-rechristened Hostile Powers project. None of this newfangled magical book business.]

In light of recent events abroad, their ongoing implications, and the necessary narrowing of our focus as a project, your input is requested at a project-wide conference that will be held via crystal at eight o'clock Tuesday evening.

Please let me know if you are unable to listen in. Minutes will be made available to those who cannot.

--Enchanter Vandelin, Assistant Project Leader

From:

eruit

I would speak with you, if you have a moment.

From:

minrathousian

Whatever sort of life it is that Atticus Vedici enjoys at remote Skyhold, it's doubtful news of it has journeyed back to Kirkwall. The specifics of it hardly matter, in any case; he has been provided a looser leash, but a cage is still a cage, and it is not freedom. The chains of policy and procedure still bind him, and not for the first time since he was subjected to the base indignity of a phylactery, Atticus has come to view his gamble with bitterness.

Thus, in dreams, he subverts his imprisonment, and spins nightmares for his jailers like silk.

But that dark impulse is not what brings him to the outskirts of Benedict's sleeping mind. As he lingers amid nebulous shape and shadow and observes the boy in his dreams, he devotes only some passing thought to his motivations. Is it curiosity alone? Boredom? Sentimentality?

(With Atticus? Who fucking knows.)

From:

matchymatchy

[ When Benedict — at some point, presumably — wakes, he'll find that he's received a terribly mysterious written invitation to meet with the dwarven owner of an extensive private library. A stranger (terrible, mysterious) may already be waiting.

Benedict doesn't have to actually accept the invitation. Not intentionally. Should he ignore or otherwise attempt to circumvent its summons, a chain of coincidences (terrible, mysterious, you get it by now) and suspiciously well-timed accidents will load the dice to get him there roughly on time.

The invitation is beautifully calligraphed, and requests that Benedict’s inestimable expertise be lent to reviewing the accuracy of translated diary pages, said to have been written by a Tevene scholar known for his studies of dragons. This is true: The diary pages are almost certainly authentic. They are also almost certainly lewd fanfiction about dragon furries.

It’s quite a nice library, though the collection is focused exclusively upon bizarre erotica. Their host will "accidentally" lock them in for an hour, but not before providing wine and cheese.

OOC Note: Val is played by Cee. Feel free to play out a thread, handwave things, or ignore it entirely, but check with each other first! ❤ ]

From:

eruit

[ Hours after Benedict had come to him Hanzo has him still, but the time has been spent idly. The other man had been weak from the dragons, broken from the ache, and all Hanzo could do was pick him up and lift him into his bed, waiting. Over time his eyes had slipped closed, Kenji and Tomo hovering as a kind of guard as he dozed.

Waking now is slow and uneasy and Hanzo has to stop himself moving too much. Benedict is in his arms how, his own wrapped around him as he keeps him right against his chest, fingers brushing idly where they lay. He’d be embarrassed if he cared enough, but he’s had his share of drunken nights and. Well. Benedict might be more embarrassed.

Huffing a soft noise against his neck, Hanzo waits. ]

From:

keenly

There's a knock at the door. On the other side of it, Colin looks damp and red-eyed, as if he has been crying.

From:

cozen

[ Benedict isn't going to Nevarra. Oviously. He isn't going anywhere for some time. And the days everyone is away from the Gallows, leaving the courtyards and dining halls quiet and empty for the few people staying behind, probably won't feel more or less lonely to Benedict than any other day. And he might not even know what day it is or when the holiday is occurring.

But in case Bastien, like, dies, or something, and never comes back to Kirkwall, and leaves him giftless forever, he's doing it before they leave. So. ]

Hello.

[ There's a book under his arm. It isn't wrapped or anything. ]

From:

keenly

Benedict,

I've been forbidden, in no uncertain terms, from seeing you. This letter is goodbye, since Flint won't let me say goodbye in person.

If you keep resting and do everything the healers tell you to do, you shouldn't be long recovering. When you go back to your cell, make sure you stay close to your brazier and take deep breaths of warm air. I'm sorry this is our lot now. I hope you make another friend soon so that you can still have a visitor, but I think you'll be fine. You're capable of everything you need to be. This might even be good for you, having me out of the way.

I know I promised I would tell you when you would see me next, but that's not possible right now. I'm sorry.

Be strong and don't give up.

Colin

From:

adjurator

The staff is a limb, and an afterthought.

It was a precious liability to bring it along their flight North. Too near a sign of what they are. Abandoned back in camp, it might have slowed pursuit — at least a little. Can imagine: She'd never leave without it,

And she didn't, did she? Only that it was all a lot of work for what's been sitting wrapped in the rags from the haycart for going on weeks. There's been no reason to remove them. No one really needs a staff in peace.

The summer sun pools into lines of earth and hedge, swallowed up save for the sudden gleam of something sharper. Planted criss-cross in a row of the garden, Alais carefully strips the stave of its wrapping, reveals the hard geometry of onyx-polished lines.

Unmistakably expensive work, and all the more unmistakably Tevene.

Edited (too many adjectives) Date: 2020-07-11 06:28 am (UTC)

From:

sulahnan

It's late evening, the time when normal folk would be bedding down for the night (and thus not a time that most of Riftwatch is actually sleeping because they're a bunch of nocturnal weirdos). Wherever Benedict happens upon her, he'll find that Athessa is rather intently staring at one particular stone in the wall, turning her head as if...listening.

From:

cozen

Benedict could be anywhere, so long as it’s somewhere settled, sitting or working, with the air of someone who intends not to move right away.

And while he’s there, Bastien appears briefly in his line of sight, points at him with a simultaneous finger-snap, ah-ha, and walks away.

Several minutes later, though he’s back with an armful of paper, neatly stacked and separated by blank broadsheets. “I keep forgetting,” he says without preamble, “because of—you know. The war.”

From:

keenly

They're having lunch together and Colin has been distracted the entire time. Usually a good listener (at least in one-on-one conversation), he finds himself zoning out while Benedict is talking at one point until there's a lull and he realizes he's expected to reply to someone. He blinks owlishly.

"Um. Sorry?" he asks with a wince. "Sorry," he adds in apology for the out-zoning.

From:

keenly

When Colin knocks on Benedict's door, he's shivering a little. He hasn't decided yet if this is the worst idea he's ever had, or if it's acceptable for him to just have what he can while he can have it without thinking it through at all.

From:

keenly

[The day after this thread.]

There's a knock on Benedict's door after work is done for the day. Colin's there with an earthenware pitcher beaded with condensation. He gives a faint smile.

"Want to sit in the garden a bit?"

From:

bouchonne

[ Byerly's voice sounds cheery. ]

My dear fellow! Do you enjoy working as my assistant? Should I allow you to continue?

From:

keenly

[after this]

Once they've chosen an empty room and made a comfortable pillow-and-blanket nest, Colin settles into a comfortable position on the floor.

"Come on," he says, patting his thigh.

From:

katabasis

[Shortly after this hooliganism— maybe Benedict is running an errand for the Diplomacy office; maybe he's working in the dining hall on his mural project; maybe he's minding his own damn business. Regardless, a moment ago there was no stormy presence in his atmosphere and now there is.]

A moment if you please, Artemaeus.

From:

poleaxed

Anyroad, lad, you're free of me now. Don't celebrate too hard; you'll hurt the three feelings I have left.

From:

sulahnan

For the record, if Athessa were trying to attack Benedict (but not kill him), she would wait until they were smoking together and just tap his junk or something. Or she'd find him while he's working for Byerly and get him in a headlock, or kick his legs out from under him or, or, or.

But Ben doesn't know that.

"Hey, hang on a sec!" Is what she hollers across the courtyard, jogging towards him.

From:

keenly

Colin is waiting in the hallway when Bene gets off work, looking glum.

From:

keenly

When Colin has a moment to peek into Byerly's office to check up on Benedict, he does. He probably feels as fried as Colin does, at a guess.

"You all right?" he asks tentatively.

From:

archademode

The trip to Denerim and back is long, by way of both travel and necessity itself: Gabranth refused to rush Jone through the shadows of her own past, as he— were Landis to exist as anything more than an unseemly speck of rubble— would refuse to rush himself through his own.

Still, in the end that means he’s not seen nor heard from Benedict Artemaeus since before their efforts in Cloudreach, and in the late hour of his return, he makes searching the man out a priority.

Regardless of what Benedict might otherwise be doing.

S	M	T	W	T	F	S
		1	2	3	4	5
6	7	8	9	10	11	12
13	14	15	16	17	18	19
20	21	22	23	24	25	26
27	28	29	30	31